


You Never Had It Right

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Paddling, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John punishes Dean, but Sam doesn't think Dean is the one who screwed up and does his best to comfort his big brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Never Had It Right

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Severe parental spanking
> 
> Author's Note: (Late) birthday present for the capricorn86. Pre-series. The boys are 11 and 15.
> 
> capricorn86, I would've had it done earlier except I was trying really to hard to make it fluffier or warm and fuzzier for you, but...well, you know me ;) FAIL. So instead of doing a dreadful, forced rendition of the type of parental spanking I suck at writing, I went with my specialty, but hopefully still included enough elements to your liking. It's for your request of Dean getting a harsh spanking from John for screwing up, focused on a hairbrush and Sam's perceptions.

Sam sat on the bed with his feet dangling just above the floor. As he swung his legs, his knee brushed against Dean’s. He leaned into his brother, resting his head against his shoulder as his eyelids became heavy.

He yawned and turned his head just enough to see the clock. It was after midnight on a school night. Usually, Sam would’ve been asleep long ago, but he hadn’t even done his homework yet. He could scribble it in before class. If they even went to school tomorrow. For once, he didn’t care.

Dean was stiff beside him. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm over his knees. Sam didn’t care about school because his big brother was scared.

The yelling had stopped an hour ago. Sam had listened from the hallway, hunkered down with his arms wrapped around his knees. He’d sat close enough to the open bedroom door that he’d heard the creak of the floorboards as Dad paced the room.

Occasionally, he peeked around the corner, but the sight was always the same — Dad standing over Dean shouting. It wasn’t so much that his voice was loud, only that it was angry and deep and had sounded like thunder in contrast to Dean’s mumbled apologies.

Sam wished Dean would say something, anything, but even after Dad had left with the front door slamming behind him, Dean still hadn’t moved from the edge of the bed. He was still quiet. Even as Sam leaned into him, Dean kept his eyes on the floor, clenching his jaw and rubbing his eyes.

Sam didn’t say anything either. His gaze moved between watching his brother and the bare tree limbs outside the window that tapped against the glass and sent shadows crawling over the wallpaper.

He let his eyes close only for a second as he listened to the tree and his brother’s tapping and the constant drip of the leaking showerhead across the hall. He’d wanted to turn on the radio for Dean, but his brother had said they needed to keep it off or Dad might be mad.

He didn’t see how it mattered. Dad was already mad. He was always mad, but Dean would feel better if he had something to listen to.

Sam thought about asking Dean to make shadow puppets. He was horrible at it, but Dean thought his obscene shadows were funny and Sam liked it when his brother laughed. It didn’t happen often and never around Dad.

“You need to go to bed, Sammy.”

Sam opened his eyes and looked back up at Dean. His brother was chewing on his lip, gaze locked on the door. Sam knew he was listening for the sound of the Impala’s engine. He was waiting for Dad to come home.

“Do you think he’s gonna spank you really hard?”

Dean glanced down at him and looked so worried that Sam bit his own lip. He didn’t think Dean could really be that scared of Dad because he always looked relieved when Dad came back, even if Dad was taking off his belt as he walked into the room.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “Just go to bed. He’s gonna be mad I kept you up.”

“You didn’t.”

Dean shrugged and Sam couldn’t help a huff of annoyance. Dean would lie just to agree with Dad. It didn’t matter if Dad was being a total jerk, Dean always said he was right and Sam didn’t get it.

He knew if Dad asked why he was still up Dean would say it was his fault, which was stupid. Sam was eleven years old. He could put himself to bed and, right now, he wanted to stay up with his brother. They didn’t even know if Dad was actually coming back tonight.

“Please, Sammy. I’m okay. Just get some sleep.”

Dean reached over to mess up Sam’s hair before giving him a shove. Sam shoved him back as he slid off the bed. He was only agreeing because going to bed meant leaving Dean only long enough to brush his teeth and he could still see his brother from the bathroom. It wasn’t like he could actually sleep knowing what Dad was going to do to Dean when he got back.

Sam’s mouth was full of toothpaste when headlights flared through the window. Dean straightened on the bed while Sam quickly rinsed his mouth and skittered past him to hop beneath the covers.

He didn’t care what Dad thought or even thought Dad cared. He just knew that Dean did and he didn’t want to upset Dean anymore than he already was. Sam flopped onto his side, facing the door and was lying still by the time the car door creaked open.

Dad was quiet when he came in. He stood like a shadow in the doorway. Sam watched through squinted eyes as Dad took off his jacket and Dean dropped his head to his chest. Even Sam’s stomach flipped as he watched Dad unbutton and meticulously roll up the sleeves of his flannel.

“Did you fix it?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was. He’d heard the whole lecture, but had been more focused on Dean than Dad’s words. What he had heard was just about responsibility and following orders and family and the same stuff that Dad always said. He said it so much that Dean repeated it word for word when Dad was out of town.

Dad nodded slowly as he stepped further into the room. “I had to impersonate a federal officer to do it, but they dropped the charges.”

Sam scoffed. He didn’t catch himself before Dad turned to look at him. He lay perfectly still and kept pretending to sleep, but he wasn’t surprised that Dad didn’t buy it for a second.

When Dad walked over to the bed, he was looking down at him, not Dean. He patted his leg. “You got something to say, Sam?”

Sam sheepishly peeked over the covers. Dad didn’t look as scary as he had earlier tonight. He still looked mad, but at least he didn’t look like he wanted to rip something apart and that change in demeanor gave Sam more courage than it probably should.

“Uncle Bobby says you’re always pretending to be somebody else. It’s not Dean’s fault.”

“Sam, shut up,” Dean said.

“Well, it isn’t.”

“Holy crap, who cares?” Dean asked. “Just go get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then go stick your head in the toilet.”

“Enough,” Dad snapped before Sam could retaliate. “Sam, you stay put. Dean, shut your mouth unless you want to add belt lickings to what you already got coming.”

“Why can’t Sammy go?” Dean asked. “He didn’t do anything.”

Dad stepped forward to tower over where Dean sat. “What did I say?”

Dean hunched on the bed, tucking his head to his chest. Sam hated when he did that. Sometimes Dad was just like the bullies at school, except he was one that Dean couldn’t turn around and kick the ass of. It wasn’t fair.

“If I have to blister your ass, your brother might as well learn something from it.”

Dad said it like it made sense, but all Sam was going to learn was that Dad really was a jerk. Sam knew Dean hated him watching almost as much as Sam hated seeing it. Dad knew it, too.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Sam said.

“Sammy, it’s fine. I earned it. Just...” Dean clamped his mouth shut and glanced up at Dad, who was starting to look angry again. “Sorry, sir. You can whip me if you want.”

Dad sighed as he settled on the bed between them. The old mattress sunk under his weight. Dean scooted away just a bit, swallowing when Dad’s gaze settled on him.

“I don’t want to punish you at all, Dean, but you’ve already put this family in danger. If I give you an order, no matter what it is, I expect you to follow it to the letter. If we’d been on a hunt, you could’ve just given away our position. You could have just gotten us all killed. Do you understand me?”

Dean toed at the carpet with his boot. “Yes, sir.”

“This’ll make sure you remember.”

Dean nodded then looked away as Dad unbuckled his belt. Sam’s stomach knotted as he watched it slide from the loops. Dad doubled over the strap and set it on the bed beside Dean. The leather brushed against Dean’s hand and he jerked away as if it had burned him.

Sam’s horror boiled over to anger. “You can’t whip him just for talking! You’re not on a hunt and Dean wouldn’t be talking if you were. He’s not stupid, you know?”

Dad abruptly stood from the bed to stand over him, but Sam didn’t shy away like Dean did. He kept his head up and glared just like his brother did at the bullies.

“I said enough, Sam,” Dad growled. “You march your ass out of that bed and bring me the hairbrush.”

Sam’s bravado faltered. He didn’t get a chance to decide whether or not he was going to do it before Dean was there, putting himself in between him and Dad.

“You can’t spank him,” Dean said.

Dad glowered down at him. He looked pissed enough now that Sam wanted to hide the rest of the way behind Dean, but he forced himself to stay where he was sitting.

“What did you say to me?” Dad asked.

“Sam didn’t disobey an order.” Dean took a step back when Dad closed in, but didn’t quite drop his head. “You told him to stay in bed, not that he couldn’t talk. This is all my fault. Sam’s just trying to help.” Finally Dean did look up, meeting Dad’s eyes. “Dad, please.”

Dad looked between them before his weary gaze settled on Dean. The anger had drained away by the time Dad reached out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder.

“Okay, settle down,” Dad said, but his eyes sharpened when he pointed at Sam. “Just one more word out of you...”

Sam had way more than one word, but his retort caught in his throat when Dean looked past Dad to meet his eyes. His expression was desperate, silently pleading.

It wasn’t fair, but Dean said nothing was. He also said if they could get away with only one of them taking the hit then they should. Sam agreed except that he knew Dean only meant that for himself. Dean had never actually let Sam be the only one to get spanked.

Sam glared at him, shaking his head, but settled back against the headboard. He’d already gotten Dean into more trouble and he knew if he kept arguing Dad would only get madder.

He watched anxiously as Dad sat on the edge of the bed, waiting as Dean dug the hairbrush out of his bag. None of them actually used the nasty old thing. A lot of the metal tines on it were bent or broken from years of being hauled around in the duffel stuffed beneath bags of salt and weapons. But the wide, wooden base was big and heavy and hurt way more than it looked like it should.

Sam still remembered the first time Dad had used it on him. He’d been terrified because he knew it made Dean cry and nothing besides Dad did that. It had been over in seconds and he hadn’t wanted to sit for two days, but he knew Dad could hit a lot harder. The brush always sounded louder when it hit Dean.

Sam’s lower lip trembled as Dean handed Dad the hairbrush and unfastened his jeans. He pushed them down with his boxers and stood rigidly at the corner of the bed before taking a breath and lowering himself over Dad’s waiting lap.

Dean was getting big enough that it would’ve looked funny if Dad wasn’t about to hit him. His torso lay over the mattress while his feet dangled off. He was facing Sam, but had his head turned away and tucked in his arms to hide his face.

Sam jumped along with Dean when the first slap landed without warning. Dad didn’t work into it, he just did it. It was only his hand, the brush set aside on the bed, but Sam knew Dad’s hand didn’t hurt much less. The hits came hard and fast, moving quickly to cover Dean’s backside with a rosy blush.

Sam felt every stinging hit as he watched Dean jerk. Dean was gasping, his shoulders heaving, by the time Dad let up. Dad shook out his hand before picking up the brush and starting right in again.

He didn’t tell Dean he was switching and the first thud of hard wood against flesh nearly sent Dean scrambling off Dad’s lap. Dad threw his arm around Dean’s waist, pinning him in place. Sam coiled on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly to fight against the urge to rescue his brother.

Dean was right there only feet from him. The mattress squeaked beneath him every time the brush came down. Dean had his head tucked so far that it was pressed against Dad’s thigh. One of his hands clutched the blankets while the other kept rubbing his eyes.

Sam released his own hold on the sheets and reached out. He set his hand over Dean’s outstretched fist where it held the covers in a white-knuckle grip. Dean chocked on a sob and Sam didn’t bother to hide his own as he squeezed Dean’s hand. It was shaking.

Dean wiped his cheeks before looking up at Sam. His stupid brother smiled. It was as pained as the winces that Dean couldn’t hide, but he was trying to say it was okay. His brother was a big, fat liar. Sam felt helpless as Dean gave up and hid his face again.

He wasn’t even sure when the spanking had stopped, but he jerked back when Dad pushed his hand away from Dean’s. The hairbrush was set aside on the mattress and Dad released his hold on Dean’s waist.

“Stand up,” Dad ordered. “Turn around and bend over the chair.”

Dean looked dazed, his ‘yes, sir’ nearly too quiet to hear. Sam watched the silent tears trail down Dean's cheeks as he stood. Dean bit down hard on his lip and swiped at his eyes as he shuffled without so much as rubbing his butt.

He bent over braced on the creaky old chair beside the dresser. His shoulders were painfully tensed. His legs didn’t even look steady.

Sam winced as his reluctant gaze settled on Dean’s backside. Even in the dimly lit room, the red skin stood out starkly. Sam’s hand curled back into fists. He could already see spots where the edge of the brush had bruised its outline into Dean’s skin.

His heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears as Dad stood and grabbed the belt off the bed before stalking towards Dean.

“Dad, no,” Sam pleaded. “You hit him enough already.”

Both Dad and Dean turned to glare at him. Dean’s eyes were wide, hurt and worried, while Dad just looked tired and annoyed and Sam couldn’t figure out what else. He didn’t care. Dean was wrong. This wasn’t his fault — it was Dad’s.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice as shaky as his breath.

He caught himself, wincing when Dad’s hand came up, but Dad didn’t hit him. He just squeezed his shoulder again. Dean let out a breath and turned back around. His hands spread over the chair and his beaten rear jutted out.

“How many times did you disobey my order?” Dad asked.

“Uh...too many?” Dean stiffened then shrugged. “I-I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, Dean. You’re getting just enough to have something to think about this week, but if we have to repeat this, you’ll be held accountable for each word. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad pushed up Dean’s shirt to fully expose his backside then tapped the doubled over leather against the raw skin. Dean yelped sharply when it snapped down, leaving a darkened streak over his upper thighs.

Sam looked away when it came down again, but that didn’t block out Dean’s pained grunt. Several more strikes fell before the room was quiet again aside from Dean’s unsteady, panted breaths.

“Are you gonna get caught pulling a stunt like that again?”

Dean shook his head without lifting it.

“Good because if the police do pick you up again, you can stay the night in jail to think about the tanning you got coming. Involving the authorities puts us all in jeopardy. It risks everything and if I give an order...”

“I follow it,” Dean whispered between gasped breaths. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. Calm down, Dean,” Dad said as he rubbed his hand over Dean’s shoulders. “You’re okay.”

Sam glared at Dad as he turned his back on Dean and wove his belt back through its loops. Dean had been a lot more okay before Dad had gotten home and even better when he hadn’t been in town at all.

“Get to bed,” Dad told Dean. “We’re leaving at oh six hundred tomorrow and you got a training session to get through before then. That goes for you too, Sam.”

Dad’s voice was tight and gruff and it took all the willpower Sam had not to stick his tongue out at him. He gritted his teeth and nodded. He was glad when Dad grabbed his stupid whiskey bottle and disappeared into the other room. He was even more relieved when he heard the television turn on.

Dad would pass out on the couch and he and Dean could have the bedroom to themselves. Only Sam realized a moment later that Dean was leaving, too.

Dean had finally stood up and pulled his boxers back on, but Sam could still see one of the belt marks when he bent over to pick up his jeans. Dean carefully folded them before tossing them onto the chair and then headed for the door.

Sam hated when Dean snuck off to go hide somewhere when he was hurting. He shouldn’t be crying alone in a dirty bathroom, but he usually did. He’d go and pretend like he was taking a shower, but half the time he came back with dry hair.

Dean would return smiling and joking as if nothing had happened. It was like he thought Sam was blind and couldn’t see his puffy eyes or the way he squirmed uncomfortably, making pained faces without even realizing he was doing it.

“Dean, just stay here,” Sam said. "Please."

Dean froze in the doorway. His eyes were glistening when he looked over his shoulder at Sam.

“Don’t cry, Sammy,” Dean said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam hadn’t realized he was crying, but he brushed his cheek and his finger tips came back soaked. He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears. He just folded back the covers on the opposite side of the bed so Dean would come lay down. Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he also looked so tired that he might fall over.

He shuffled over to lower himself on the bed, lying on his stomach. He settled on the pillow with his head facing away from Sam. He laid there for a long time, quiet aside from his struggle to steady his breath.

Sam laid the covers carefully back over him then looked past Dean to the barren tree that continued to scratch at the window. He didn’t know what it felt like, not really. Dad hadn’t used the belt on him yet and he’d never beaten him like that with the brush.

Dad was different with Dean, about everything, and Sam hated it. Dean was perfect. He was the one who looked up to Dad, took care of him and cared what he wanted. And he was the one who Dad hit twice as hard. Dean usually cried after a spanking, but waited until Dad left and Sam was pretty sure it wasn’t just because it hurt.

“Dad’s such a jerk.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean mumbled into his pillow. “I was stupid. If the police had looked closer...”

“Dad’s in trouble with the police all the time and nobody ever spanks him. I mean, seriously, Dean. Last month, he brought you to break into a bar and a couple of weeks ago he made you steal that...techy thing. What’s he expect?”

“I told you like a hundred times, it was a tekko and we needed it to—”

“Whatever. I’m just saying it’s his own stupid fault. What’d you even steal this time?”

Dean wiped his face again before turning his head towards Sam. He stayed on his stomach and rested his head in his arms. “I broke into the Howell’s house.”

“The school’s principal?” Sam scrunched his face as he looked down at his brother. “Why?”

“’Cause the guy’s a douchebag.”

“You think everyone’s a douchebag.”

“They usually are.”

Dean had been complaining about Principal Howell since they arrived in town, but Dean didn’t usually go messing up people’s houses just because they were jerks. If he did, he’d be in jail all the time.

Sam lay down on the bed facing Dean, propping his head up with his hand as he studied his brother. Dean wasn’t looking at him and he was still breathing funny. He grimaced as he shifted, which only made Sam want to distract him more.

“So?” Sam asked.

“So nothing. I don’t know it was just...stupid. I thought the house was empty, but his brother was there.”

“Who’s his brother?”

"I guess he’s the sheriff.” Dean yawned as he picked at the frayed edge of his pillow case. “That Mindy girl is such a bitch.”

“The one you were doing gross things to in the library?” When Dean shrugged, Sam rolled his eyes. “Did you break into the Principal’s house because some girl told you to?”

“No,” Dean scoffed. Sam raised his brow and Dean shifted to stare at the headboard. “Okay, maybe. I guess she was just trying to get back at her dad or some frickin soap opera crap. I thought she was actually in trouble. I was trying to help.”

“You were trying to get more ‘library time’.”

A weak smirk tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips. “Damn straight and she was totally worth it.” The smile slipped from his face as he turned back to Sam. “I told you I deserved it.”

“But you didn’t and why didn’t you just let him spank me?”

Dean stared at him like he was stupid. “Because you didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t do anything he didn’t teach you.”

“Yeah, well, he also taught me how to slit throats and make Molotov cocktails. Doesn’t mean I get to run around giving everyone Columbian neckties before I fire bomb their houses.”

Sam rolled over so he was laying on his stomach like Dean. “Our lives suck.”

“I’m sorry I made it so you have to move again, Sammy. I know you really liked the teachers here.”

Sam shrugged. “I like you better. And, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for standing up to Dad for me.”

Dean looked startled by the words. He glanced towards the hallway that flickered with the cool light from the television in the living room then he looked back at Sam like he was trying to figure something out. Dean was awesome at everything except for taking a compliment. He scratched the back of his head before his features softened. Then he elbowed Sam in the side.

“You’re such a frickin girl,” Dean said.

“At least I didn’t get brainwashed by one.”

“Shut up.” A hint of real smile brightened his exhausted features. “Don’t worry about it. I already knew you were a pain in the ass. You’re worth it.”

Sam frowned when Dean grimaced as he tried to get comfortable. “You’re not gonna say that tomorrow when we’re sitting in the car all day.”

“Yeah, I will.” Dean fluffed up Sam’s bangs before nestling his head into his pillow. “Believe me, you’re a pain in the ass all the time. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean chuckled softly as he let his eyes close. His eyelashes were still wet enough to catch the light that seeped in the window. He sniffled and the bed springs squeaked as he shifted.

Sam finally wiped his own eyes dry as he settled down on his pillow facing Dean, lying close enough that his brother’s exhales made his bangs flutter. He didn’t know how Dean could sleep now or how he could actually be smiling, but at least for tonight, it was enough to convince Sam that things might actually be okay.


End file.
